one hand feeling along the walls
by humanveil
Summary: Contact: one to one hundred. EO. [FICLET COLLECTION]
1. Chapter 1

**Characters:** Elliot/Olivia.

**Summary:** Contact; one to one hundred.

**Note:** I write a lot of very short fics as writing warm ups, and I wanted try doing semi-related ones. This WIP is a 100 chapter look at different types of touch. There's no real plot but all of it looks at EO. The rating will eventually increase as I add more explicit drabbles.

Warnings/summaries/whatever will be found in chapter notes when appropriate. You CAN leave prompts!

Title comes from the poem Permission by Seema Reza. Gave me major EO feels.

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_**chap one - prompt: shake | rating: g.**_

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The first thing Olivia notices about Elliot is that he has a nice smile.

It's bright. Lights up his whole face, the stretch of his mouth wide and full. His eyes crinkle at the sides, expression genuine even through the obvious exhaustion, making him look much softer than he had when they'd entered the room. She's only seen it a second before she decides it's something she wants to see again.

The second thing she notices is that his hands are cold.

"Olivia Benson, Elliot Stabler," Cragen is saying, their hands locking together as he informs them they'll be working together.

Olivia smiles, feels the calloused skin of Elliot's hand against her palm, feels the chill seep into her own warmer flesh. He has a firm grip: strong and assured. It's something that seems present in all of him; the next thing she notices the hard lines of his body, the way his suit conceals solid muscle. The way he holds himself.

Her tongue runs across her bottom lip before she says, "It's nice to meet you."

He shakes with his right hand. She doesn't notice the ring until later.


	2. Chapter 2

_**chap two - prompt: collar | rating: t**_

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Elliot gives the outfit one last look-over, gaze trailing from the expensive leather shoes to the form fitting navy suit: his disguise for the night, some hotshot with wandering hands. They've been working the case for over a week.

He's making for the locker room door when Liv stops him. "Hold on," she says, jogging to catch up. "You've got—"

She cuts off, comes to a halt in front of him. For her part, she's dressed as she normally is; will be watching on a monitor from the van outside. He still thinks she looks better than he does.

"What," he says, half a murmur, looking down at himself. Rather than answer, Olivia lifts her hand. Rests it on his shoulder.

Fingers, soft and warm, brush over the back of his neck as they fix his collar, smooth the fabric. Elliot stills, tense beneath her touch but not because it's unwanted. Quite the opposite, if he's honest: a familiar kind of heat pooling his insides with Olivia this close.

She smiles when it's done, hand trailing across the blazer and down his torso: quick and innocent enough to be casual if they both didn't know better. "All good," she tells him, voice warm. Lightly teasing. He half expects her to wink when she turns away.

She doesn't. His _thank_ _you_ stays stuck in his throat.


	3. Chapter 3

_**prompt: first hug.**_

_**warnings: canonical character death (serena)**_

_**rating: g/t.**_

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He finds her after everyone has left, her mother's body buried six feet under. She's sitting in the corner of the room, conscious of her breathing as she stares out the window, down to where people pass: uncaring of the week she's had. Her throat is tight. Accompanied by a faint burn of her eyes. She hasn't cried, yet. Is trying not to.

"You alright?"

His voice is quiet, careful, concerned. She recognises it, the way Elliot softens when he's worried about her. It makes her chest tight for a different reason entirely.

She doesn't respond, just stares. Knows her eyes are red-rimmed with bags beneath. She didn't sleep last night; the night before that, either.

"I know," Elliot says. His shoulder shifts as if to shrug. "Dumb question."

Olivia feels her mouth twitch. Would smile if she had the energy. He exhales, long and low. Sits on the couch beside her: close, their shoulders brushing, legs touching. He lifts his arm and drapes it across the lounge; a gentle pressure. _An act of comfort_. Her throat constricts again.

"It's okay if you're not," Elliot adds, a soft murmur. She feels his breath against her cheek. "You know that, yeah?"

She shuts her eyes. Emotion is clawing at her throat, is dousing it in gasoline and setting it on fire. She feels it burn, thick, as she tries to swallow. Feels her body go tense with it. She knows Elliot feels it, too, when his arm drops with a heavier weight, a half-hug, pulling her closer.

The damn is about to break. Olivia knows it is; can _feel _it. Her shoulders shake: once, twice, three times. She falls against him, restraint gone, and his other arm comes up to catch her. He shifts, twists, tightens his hold; _secure_. She feels a warm, heavy hand rub circles across her back, _soothing. _His shoulder is solid, his shirt soft beneath her cheek. _Safe._

She wants to say, _I'm sorry._ Wants to say, _It's stupid. _Wants to say _s_he's been waiting for this her whole life. Had known it was coming since the first time she'd found Serena unconscious: six years old, scared, confused, unsure of what to do. She wants to tell him, _It's not surprising. _

All that comes out is a broken sob. Harsh and guttural and filled with grief.

Elliot holds her through it.

Olivia clings for her life.


	4. Chapter 4

**prompt:** shoulder  
**rating:** g

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The body of their third victim comes in at half past eight, when they've already been working the case for over a week. _Warner's working on the report now_, Fin announces, and Cragen nods before he points to where Elliot and Olivia are going over the latest pics from the newest crime scene. "Get your asses there and wait," he says, all Commanding Officer, daring them to argue.

They don't.

It's how Elliot finds himself sitting in a too-small plastic chair, Olivia's head on his shoulder and his jacket thrown across her as she catches whatever sleep she can get.


	5. Chapter 5

**prompt:** wake.  
**rating:** g.

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"Go wake your partner," Cragen says, pointing vaguely toward the crib, his gaze focused not on Elliot, but on the report in his hands. "O'Halloran needs you."

Elliot acts on autopilot. He finds Olivia snoring softly in the crib, blanket twisted into a ball at her side, the jacket she'd had on discarded. Her shirt has ridden up in her sleep, the smooth expanse of her abdomen exposed. Elliot tries not to look but fails. It's been happening a lot, lately: trailing gazes, indulgent glances. He tries not to think about it.

He swallows around the heat creeping up his neck; they've got bigger issues at hand.

"Liv," he says, crouching close. His voice is soft, barely a whisper. She doesn't stir. _"Liv."_

He reaches a hand and nudges her shoulder. She's warm to touch, heat seeping through her shirt and into his fingers, his palm. She shifts slightly, a low groan escaping her mouth, the sound underpinned by a ripple of pleasure; she's content only the way a person on the brink of unconsciousness can be, and Elliot is struck with how _inviting _it is, the desire to join her almost overwhelming.

He tries not to think about that, either.

"Hey," he says, and watches as she slowly opens her eyes. She blinks and then smiles, and Elliot feels his heart in his throat as he stands still: mesmerised by her beauty. It's only after a too-long pause that he remembers to add, "O'Halloran found something."

It shatters whatever calm they'd found. Olivia sits up, and Elliot is forced to pull his hand away, back to his side. He watches as Olivia plays catch up with herself, the grogginess forcibly pushed aside as she switches back into work mode. He tries to follow suit.

After all, they're professionals. They have a job to do.


	6. Chapter 6

_a/n: i just wanted to say thank you guys for all the lovely reviews! i didn't think these ficlets would get much attention, so your comments always make me smile! ❤︎_

**prompt:** brush

**rating:** g

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"Chamomile," Elliot says, arm outstretched. He doesn't grimace like he used to, like he did the first time she'd ordered it, the first time she'd made him _try_ it. Olivia smiles in lieu of a thanks and takes the offered cup, not thinking about the way their fingers brush.

She switched to tea again two weeks ago. They both know it won't last; it never does. The need for caffeine always cracks her resolve. Still, it's nice that he'd remembered.

Elliot takes the seat beside her, his cup of coffee held in one hand, a case file in the other. The warmth of his body trickles over instantly, heat seeping into her jacket, her jeans, her skin: court bench, too small. Their bodies press together from shoulder to thigh, and Olivia swallows around a sip of tea.

After all, she needs to blame the way her stomach warms on _something._


	7. Chapter 7

**prompt:** date.  
**rating:** g/t.

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There are certain things you get used to over the years, Olivia thinks. Not the cases, because something's really gotta be wrong for you to accept dead kids and sexual assault as _normal_, but the side-effects of the job. A ruined date is nothing new. She isn't surprised; she isn't even sure she can say she's upset.

She stands on the curb of a busy street and pulls Elliot's police-issue windbreaker tighter around her shoulders. It smells like him, she thinks, her nose buried into the collar, eyes squinting against the early-winter wind as she watches her partner say goodbye to her date.

"Sorry for stealing her," Elliot says, hand extended.

His mouth is twisted in that smarmy smile of his, the one he usually keeps locked up for undercover work. It's fake. She knows it's fake. She's pretty sure her date can tell it's fake, too, but he smiles back and shakes the offered hand anyway, and really, Olivia thinks, she doesn't know what she'd been expecting. Derek's a nice guy. Of course he smiles back.

She shifts where she stands and adjusts the skirt of her dress, lips twitching when he catches her eye. "I really am sorry," she says, at the same time Elliot says, "It was nice meeting you, David," and _God_, Olivia thinks. Way to be fucking subtle.

Derek corrects him but looks between them as he does it, forehead lightly furrowed, mouth downturned, and that. That is a look Olivia knows well.

It doesn't take a genius to realise he's not going to call her again.

She turns to the Sedan only once Derek has disappeared around the corner. Elliot's right beside her, hand pressed to the small of her back under the guise of _assistance_, his other one reaching to open her door, but Olivia makes a point of ignoring his help for no other reason than that she feels like being spiteful.

"Ass," she grumbles, half-hearted, and hates the way her mouth twitches at his laugh.


	8. Chapter 8

**prompt:** roleplay  
**rating:** g

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It's a couple months into her SVU stint when she realises Elliot might end up being a Problem. She's still new, but not new enough that it's awkward; the caution is gone, the rest of the department no longer watching her every step and waiting for her to fail. She's got their affection, but more importantly, she's earned her place. It why they listen when she interrupts Monique and Elliot's re-enactment.

"You're going about it wrong," she says, and catches Elliot's hand before directing it to her throat instead. "The marks only make sense if she was facing him."

Elliot follows her lead, shifting so they're only inches apart, his hands wrapped around her throat. It's a loose grip—barely touches her, really—but he winks at her first and then smirks, and she's never really liked cocky guys before but there's something about the way Elliot wears it that makes her stomach flutter. His thumb ghosts over the dip of her collar, there but not there, and Olivia swallows around the breath that catches in her throat.

Her neck has always been a sensitive spot.

Elliot smiles, eyes bright and clear and baby blue, and Olivia gets the distinct feeling that he can see right through her. That he knows exactly what she's thinking.

She clears her throat and steps away. Forces her thoughts back on the case. "See?" she says, looking toward the captain. "She had to have seen his face."

Elliot stands behind her, to the left, the case file in his hand, and the ease with which he shifts back into Work Mode almost makes her wonder if she'd imagined the whole thing.

The way her neck burns with his phantom touch reminds her that she hadn't.


End file.
